Keep on Trekkin'
by zikzak23
Summary: The Sliders end up in a world where everyone is a hardcore Trekker, and Quinn and Arturo get arrested for blasphemy. NOTE: This world is based on "Star Trek," but this story is not a crossover. In this world, "Star Trek" is just a TV show.
1. Chapter 1

Keep on Trekkin'  
by Nigel G. Mitchell

(c) Copyright September 1996

"Trekkin'" (in part or whole) can be freely distributed with the condition that no part of the text is modified, and this notice is included with all copies. It cannot be sold or translated into any other form without written permission from the author. Some characters and elements of this story are the property of St. Clare Entertainment, used without authorization. The author receives no compensation from the distribution of this work.

Now for some personal comments. Those who care about the story being spoiled should read part one first, then come back here when the surprise is over. I'll wait.

Okay, welcome back. Here's the deal. "Trekkin'" is a satire of certain aspects of "Strek Trek" fandom. Readers should know that I'm a die-hard Trek fan myself. It's not my intent to parody the shows, only the culture that's been built around the shows. Trek fans who read it should see it as a parody of those *other* fans who seem to take things too far. Anybody remember that Whitewater juror who went to court in a Starfleet ensign's uniform, complete with phaser and tricorder? *That's* the kind of fan I'm making fun of, the ones who lack a grip on reality. How much you see of yourself in this story isn't my fault and should be a good indicator of whether you need psychiatric help. I'm about halfway down the scale in that part of me thought the world depicted in "Trekkin'" is kinda cool.

If you've read all this and you're still upset, feel free to flame my head off. Either that or write a fanfic story called "Keep on Slidin.'"

Enjoy.

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PART ONE

The convention center was filled with the roar of conversation and music from various booths. Quinn walked among the aisles alongside Wade, looking at the equipment mounted on various tables. They were all computer hardware and software, being displayed with the manufacturers alongside them, describing their virtues.

Wade looked up at Quinn with a smile. "Thanks for agreeing to do this, Quinn. It's really nice."

"No problem," Quinn said. "It's nice to get a break and do something fun every once in a while."

Wade looked away at a large computer seated on an IBM table. "I haven't been to a computer expo in years, not since a few months before the slide."

"Me, either. I just wish this world had more advanced computer technology. At least on par with our own." Quinn looked over the IBM computer with large signs trumpeting its 64K hard drive and audio-tape drive.

"Oh, come on. It's fun. Like going back in time to the good old days before quad-speed CD-ROM drives, triple- gigabyte hard drives, and ergonomic keyboards."

Arturo and Rembrandt waded out of the crowds to their sides. Rembrandt was skimming a brochure as Arturo wrinkled his nose in distaste. "I beg to differ, Miss Welles," Arturo said. "I have never understood the younger generation's fascination with computers, and viewing more ancient computers holds even less interest for me. Give me a slide rule over your fancy Pentium computers anyday."

"Well, I'm sorry if I'm boring you, professor," Wade said. "I just thought it would be fun to do something normal for a change."

Rembrandt grinned down at her. "Hey, I'm with you, Wade. Just hope if we find a rock concert on the next world, we get to spend some time there, too."

Wade smiled. "Oh, you got it, Remmy. I haven't been to a really good concert in years."

Quinn's jacket began to beep. He pulled the small rectangular device that controlled their sliding out of his pocket. Flipping open its cover revealed the red LED display flashing a series of zeroes.

Wade stared at it. "What? It's time to slide already?"

"Yeah," Quinn said. "I thought we'd have time to get in and out of here. Must've lost track."

"Excellent," Arturo snarled. "Now where are we supposed to slide?"

Quinn shrugged. "We'll slide right here. Come on, behind that display."

They all hustled to get behind the cover of a huge cardboard logo for Microsoft. Quinn punched the activation button on the timer. The wall buckled and imploded into a six-foot hole in space, pouring into itself with a brilliant blue light. One by one, the Sliders jumped into it.

* * *

Quinn emerged from the wormhole to go flying onto a large table. He crashed into it, sending merchandise spilling off the table onto the ground. Quinn finally came to a halt when he slid off the edge of the table onto the tiled floor.

He groaned and opened his eyes. He was in the convention center again, but it was different this time. The computers were gone. People were milling around in red, green, and yellow spandex outfits. The men wore black boots. Some of the women wore the same outfits, but with incredibly short skirts.

Quinn sat up, and spilled the small plastic objects that he had knocked over onto himself. He picked up one of them up to look at. It was a toy action figure, still in its bubble wrapping, of Captain James T. Kirk. Quinn looked down at another to see it was Spock.

Wade exploded out of the wormhole to slide on the floor a few feet. She sat up, wincing as she rubbed her back. Then she scrambled out of the way as Rembrandt popped out of the gateway. He crashed down on where she had been. Then he dove for cover as Arturo appeared in a flash of light. The professor sailed past to collide with a cardboard standee of a large man in armor with a bony forehead.

A man in a red uniform wearing plastic pointed ears ran up to Quinn and Wade. "Hey, are you guys okay?"

"Yeah," Quinn murmured. "Just a little dazed, that's all."

The man looked at the wormhole which was now collapsing on itself with a fading roar. "Wow. You guys from the Center?"

Wade staggered onto her feet. "The what?"

"The Center," the pointy-eared man said. "You know, the CDTT. Is this some new kinda teleportation device?"

Arturo stood the bony-headed standee back on its feet, then said, "Uh, yes. Yes, it is."

The man grinned. "Cool. Wait'll I tell my buddies that I saw you guys teleport right in here."

The man bent and began shoveling the pile of toys on the floor back onto the table.

"Oh, man," Quinn said, "sorry about that. Didn't mean to..."

"Hey, no problem," the man said. "Small price to pay for the advancement of technology. But if you want to make it up to me, let me be one of the first teleporters when the technology becomes public, okay?"

Arturo forced a smile. "Uh, yes, of course. My friends..."

The four of them headed across the convention center.

Rembrandt looked around himself at the colorfully- dressed people in the hall. "Where are we, anyway?"

Wade pointed at a banner that hung from the ceiling, welcoming conventioneers. "I think we're in a Star Trek convention."

Quinn watched a woman painted blue and wearing antennae walk by. "Yeah, that explains a few things."

"Wonderful," Arturo said. "Well, I for one shall be anxious to get out of this nonsensical gathering and find out about this world. The real world."

They reached the exit. Quinn pushed the door open.

The streets outside the center were crowded with pedestrians. Almost all of them wore the same red, green, or blue costumes. Others were wearing the heavy armor and makeup of Klingon warriors. At first, Quinn thought it was a crowd going into the conventional hall. Then he looked farther down the street. As far as he could see, people wore the same costumes.

A car drove by on the street in front of the hall. It had the squared-egg shape of a shuttlecraft from the Enterprise. Its wheels were disguised as warp nacelles.

Quinn looked up to see an airplane sail overhead. It had the saucer-and-winged shape of the Enterprise.

"Uh, professor," Wade said, "don't look now, but I think this *is* the real world." 


	2. Chapter 2

Keep on Trekkin'  
by Nigel G. Mitchell

(c) Copyright September 1996

PART TWO

Quinn stood in front of the newsstand, watching the world go by. A very strange world. A woman in a grey robe walked by wearing plastic pointed ears and painted-on pointy eyebrows. Another man was dressed in thick scaly armor, his forehead decorated with a bony shell like a crab. A Klingon and a Vulcan. Or at least, people pretending to be one.

Rembrandt leaned against a lamppost next to Quinn, shaking his head. "This world is unbelievable. It's like the whole planet's full o' Trekkies."

Wade walked up to them, flipping through a magazine. "*Trekker,* Rembrandt. We prefer to be called Trekkers."

"Regardless," Arturo said, "it seems as if Rembrandt's statement is correct. We managed to pick up this anniversary issue of Star Trek Magazine which details the history of the program in this world."

"Yeah," Wade said, "and the big change is that in our world, when 'Star Trek' came out in the sixties, it had pretty low ratings and got canceled. It took a couple decades before it built up really huge. But in this world, 'Star Trek' was a hit from day one."

Arturo gazed thoughtfully at a man walking by with blue skin and antennae sticking out of a white-haired wig. "It's really quite startling. The show became enormously popular. So popular that it changed the world...into this."

"That figures," Rembrandt said. "You get a chance to flip through the TV Guide? 'Trek' is on every channel. 'Voyager,' 'Deep Space Nine,' 'Captain Sulu,' 'Vulcan,' 'Delta Quadrant,' 'Phase II,' 'Star Trek News,' 'The Next Generation,' 'The Next Next Generation,' 'The Next Next Next Generation'...And from the way these people are dressed, it looks like it's affected the fashion world, too."

Quinn nodded at a movie theater across the street. "And check that out. Nothing but 'Star Trek' movies. Except for 'Shakespeare's Hamlet,' but that says 'Now Dubbed Into The Original Klingon.'"

Wade flipped pages in the magazine. "It's really amazing. The show's message of peace caused an end to all national wars. Racial harmony was achieved, new technologies developed, we've colonized the moon and Mars..."

"Oh, come now, Miss Welles," Arturo said. "You make it sound as if this world were a utopia."

Wade grinned up at him. "I think it is, professor. Look around you. It's kinda fun."

Arturo snorted. "I must disagree with you there. If the price of peace is to walking around wearing deelee- boppers and pointy ears, then I'll gladly launch myself into World War II."

A man in a Classic Trek uniform walking by slowed to glare at Arturo, then quickened his pace down the street.

Arturo ignored him, folding his arms behind his back. "Personally, I have never understood the fascination with that program. I prefer more intellectual pursuits, the contemplation of the metaphysical theory of superspace, to half-naked green-skinned ladies."

Wade folded her arms as another man walked by, glaring at the professor. "I think that's a little unfair, professor. 'Star Trek' has more to it than just green babes. It's interesting, showcasing new technologies..."

"Oh, come now," Arturo said. "There you go too far. 'Trek' is about as scientific as a Buck Rogers zap-gun."

Quinn smirked. "I have to agree with the professor there."

A group of men and women wearing black machinery all over their bodies stopped to glare at Arturo through mechanized eye-pieces. Behind them, the man at the newsstand picked up a phone handset from the wall and began to dial a number.

Wade wheeled to glare up at Quinn. "Oh, come on, not you too."

Quinn held up his hands as he laughed. "I'm sorry, Wade, I've just always felt that 'Star Trek' was more pseudo-science than real science. I mean, don't get me wrong, it's a nice show, but it takes itself way too seriously. I mean, some of the stuff like transporter beams and faster-than-light travel...they violate the basic laws of physics."

A gasp rose up behind them. Quinn and the others looked around them. The four found themselves encircled in a ring of people. The crowd had gathered, staring in open-mouthed horror at them.

Quinn swallowed as he took in the menacing pairs of eyes that surrounded him. "Uh, think it was something we said?"

Arturo waved his hands at the crowd. "Oh, get a life, you brain-dead..."

Another car in the distinctive egg-shape of a Star Trek shuttlecraft drove up, but this one had sirens and lights blaring on its roof. The car pulled up in front of the newsstand. Its doors opened upwards like wings.

Men and women climbed out of the vehicle, dressed in red Trek uniforms. They marched through the crowds to where the four Sliders stood.

A woman wearing a chain linking the top of her ear to her earlobe glared at Arturo. "What's going on around here?"

"Nothing at all, madam," Arturo said. "Merely an intellectual discussion on the frivolous program on which your world is based."

Another gasp rose up from the crowds.

"Blasphemy!" someone yelled. "He said it again! Did you hear him?"

A roar of agreement went up from everyone around Arturo.

"All right," the woman said. "Come with me, sir."

She took him by the elbow and began pulling him towards the car. Arturo began to struggle even as two other red-suited men took hold of him.

"What is the meaning of this?" he yelled.

"You're under arrest," the woman said. "For the charge of heresy."

"Heresy?" Arturo yelled. "What in blazes are you babbling about, you blistering idiot?"

"Don't try to pull that 'ignorance of the law' crap," the woman snarled. "Find me somewhere in this city, this country, this planet where you wouldn't know it's against the law to insult the Show."

A man with heavy makeup that gave him white skin and a lizard-like appearance grabbed Quinn's arm and shoved him towards the car. "Take him, too. He said the Show was unscientific."

Two more security officers charged forward to grab Quinn's arms. They dragged him to the car as he began to kick and fight.

Up until that moment, Wade had been grinning at the spectacle. But now her smile faded as she took a step towards the security officers, then another.

"Hey," Wade said, "Rembrandt, I think these guys are serious. Hey! Let go of my friends! Rembrandt, we gotta stop 'em!"

"With you, girl," Rembrandt said as he rushed the guards holding Quinn.

He grabbed one of them and socked him in the jaw. Then he began wrestling the other officer's hands off Quinn's arm. Wade tried to tackle the woman holding Arturo, but hands and elbows came out of the crowds to block her. She punched out the closest person to her, and a howl of rage came up from the crowd.

"It's turning into a riot," the woman yelled. "Security, red alert! Phasers on stun!"

The two security guards broke away from Rembrandt. They drew short rod-like objects from their belts. One of them pushed a button on its handle that caused a puff of smoke to jet from the other end. Then he aimed the rod at Rembrandt and pushed another button.

A beam of reddish light came out of the rod, made visible by the smoke. It allowed Wade to see the beam hit Rembrandt. He suddenly jerked, twisted, and collapsed onto the sidewalk. Rembrandt lay there, one arm pinned under his body, his eyes gazing lifelessly into space.

"Rembrandt," Wade yelled. "What've you done to him, you..."

The security officers aimed at Wade and fired. She felt something burn on her skin where the red light touched her, then she was on the sidewalk. She couldn't move, only twitch involuntarily on the rough concrete. Her body felt numb, but she was vaguely aware that her leg was in an awkward position.

But her eyes were open and aimed at the curb. She could see Quinn and Arturo get hit by the stun-beams as well. The security officers shoved their limp bodies into the shuttlecraft, then climbed inside. The woman grinned down at Wade, then climbed into the driver's side.

The shuttlecraft rode off down the street, its sirens wailing as well as making a high-pitched squeal that sounded like the Enterprise when it went into warp drive. 


	3. Chapter 3

Keep on Trekkin'  
by Nigel G. Mitchell

(c) Copyright September 1996

PART THREE

Quinn sat on a bunk bed in a cramped prison cell, his arms wrapped around his knees. He couldn't believe this was happening to him.

Quinn looked up at the wire mesh that covered the open doorway of the cell. The mesh was so fine that it was almost invisible. Through it, he could see a man in a red skin-tight security uniform sitting beside a console. The man was looking at a small, thin handheld device that was giving off laughter and applause. Quinn guessed it was a portable TV.

A low groan emerged from the bunk next to him. Professor Arturo was sitting up, rubbing his forearm.

Quinn sat up. "Professor? How you holding up?"

Professor Arturo groaned again, then said, "As well as can be expected when one is knocked unconscious by... what was that instrument they used on us? It looked like a sort of raygun."

"A phaser, professor," Quinn said. "It's called a phaser. But...I don't think it was a real phaser at all. I think it was a taser gun disguised as a phaser."

"Well," Arturo said, "that explains the burns on my arm. What is..."

The professor blinked and looked around. "I say, where are we?"

"Jail," Quinn said.

"Ah. Uh, my good man..."

The security officer looked up into the cell next to Quinn with a bored expression. "Yeah, whadda you want?"

Arturo got up and strode towards the open doorway. He was halted by a burst of sparks that caused him to stagger away. "What is this? What did I run into?"

"A force field," the officer said. "You're being detained."

Arturo rubbed his chest, wincing. "A force field? That is not a force field. It...it's electrified wire-mesh. Haven't you people ever heard of iron bars, you blistering idiot?"

The security officer rolled his eyes, then went back to his TV.

Quinn climbed off his bunk and leaned close to the doorway of his cell. "Professor, calm down. I think, in this world, they've tried to develop as much of the technology of the Trek TV show as possible, compromising with conventional technology wherever they can. Tasers disguised as stun beams, cars disguised as starships, electric fences for force-fields...they've recreated the show in real-life."

Arturo sat down on his bunk and growled, "This is insane."

"Yeah," Quinn murmured, "well, I got a feeling we ain't seen nothing yet."

A loud hiss followed as the entrance of the outer room slid open. A man in a red and black uniform strode in. His collar was high with four buttons on it. He was followed by the woman who had arrested them. He walked up to the jail cells where Quinn and Arturo were imprisoned.

The man glared at them for a moment before saying, "I am Dr. William McFadden. This is Lt. Jimia Nyran, chief of San Francisco security. I understand we had a little altercation an hour ago."

Quinn leaned closer, then remembered the electric mesh and kept a safe distance. "Look, we didn't mean anything by what we said. We were just...kidding."

"Yes," Arturo said, "exactly. I take it all back. Now, if you don't mind, we have places to go..."

"Not so fast," Dr. McFadden said. "There's still the little matter of this."

He held up the timing device. Quinn immediately patted his jacket pockets. They were empty.

Dr. McFadden glared at Quinn as he opened the case of the device. "What is this?"

"It's a, uh, tricorder," Quinn said. "It's for my little brother."

"A tricorder," Dr. McFadden said in a calm voice. "I've never seen a tricorder that can do this..."

He aimed the timer at a wall and pushed a button on its console. A cone of blue light arched out of the front of the device. It pierced the wall, buckling it into a swirling wormhole for a brief moment. Then the wormhole collapsed into nothingness and the beam disappeared.

Quinn closed his eyes and whispered, "Uh-oh."

Lt. Nyran held up a flat device that was shaped like the PADD used on the Trek series. "I did some checking in the area. Found a nearby convention where eyewitnesses saw you and your friends pop out of thin air."

"A transporter beam," Dr. McFadden said. "Is that what this is? We know the Picards are working on a transporter device. We know they're close to breaking the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle problem. Have they succeeded?"

Quinn opened his eyes and held out his hands. "Okay, look, here's the deal. I'm gonna be totally honest. Me, the professor, my two friends, we're from another dimension. A parallel universe."

Nyran and McFadden looked at each other. Nyran raised an eyebrow.

"Go on," she said.

"We're from a world that's not like this. It's...normal. There, 'Star Trek' is just a TV show."

The security guard behind them shot to his feet, knocking his chair to the ground. He grabbed the phaser at his belt and aimed it at Quinn.

Lt. Nyran raised her hand. "Hold it. Put your weapon away. He didn't mean anything by it."

The guard glared at Quinn, then sat down slowly.

"In our world," Quinn continued, "'Trek' was canceled in the sixties. It only gained widespread popularity in the eighties when a new show came out, and even in our world, it has a large following, but nothing like this."

"I see," Dr. McFadden said. "So when you arrived in our world, you had no way of knowing that insulting the Show would have this effect."

"Exactly," Arturo said. "I'm glad you have no trouble accepting this."

"Why should I? It's just like the classic episode, 'Mirror, Mirror,' where Kirk was transported to an alternate reality. So...you four are from a parallel universe. And this device controls your travel through space-time."

Quinn was about to agree when he caught the look on Dr. McFadden's face. It was a cold, predatory smile.

Dr. McFadden nodded. "You don't have to answer. I can see by your expression that I'm right. This device opens a gateway into hyperspace. This...this is incredible."

McFadden snapped the device closed. "Since you're new here, I'll fill you in on what's happening. Earth has been at peace for decades. National and racial boundaries have been eliminated. But a new specter of conflict is rising among us that threatens to tear our world apart. That ghost...is Kirk vs. Picard."

McFadden began to pace the floor. "When the new series 'The Next Generation' came out in the mid- eighties, the discussion seemed purely academic. Which is the better captain, James Kirk or Jean-Luc Picard? But it soon escalated into a holy war. Humankind has been split into two factions, the Kirks and the Picards."

Lt. Nyran snorted. "As if it's even a contest. Captain Kirk rules."

"You see?" McFadden asked. "San Francisco is Kirk territory. "I and others around the solar system have banded together to form the Center for the Development of Trek Technology. We claim to be dedicated to bringing the farthest reaches of Trek technology to life. Warp drive, food replicators, transporter beams... but in reality, our goal is to unlock these secrets to create the weaponry needed to crush the Picard movement, once and for all."

McFadden paused. "But the Picards are advanced along the same lines. They've already succeeded in creating a full-course turkey dinner out of a box of recycled paper. It's a Trek gap that must be closed."

He clenched his fist around the timer as he held it up in the air. "And this...this is the key to closing that gap. With hyperspatial technology, we'll be able to move our forces out of space-time to any point on Earth. People, ships, weapons...it's a transporter beam and a warp drive, all in one. With your help, the Picards will be no more."

Quinn leaned closer to the mesh, feeling his skin tingle with static electricity. He focused his angry gaze on McFadden and Nyran.

"Get this," he said, "through your thick skulls. If you think I'm gonna help you geeks wipe out the human race over something as stupid as a TV show, then you're three tribbles short of a bunch."

Dr. McFadden smirked. "I'll give you one hour to decide to come around. After that, we'll be forced to take... stronger measures."

He headed out of the room, through the door that hissed aside for him. Nyran glared at Quinn and Arturo, then followed.

As the door shut, Arturo sighed. "Well done, my boy."

Quinn settled back in his bunk-bed. "Yeah. I just hope we can keep the secret of sliding out of their hands long enough for the others to rescue us."

"Yes," Arturo said. "I wonder how Mr. Brown and Miss Welles are faring in this world." 


	4. Chapter 4

Keep on Trekkin'  
by Nigel G. Mitchell

(c) Copyright September 1996

PART FOUR

After recovering from the stun-gun, Wade and Rembrandt had decided to try to lay low for a while and figure out how they were going to get Quinn and Arturo back. But after seeing the hostility of the crowds towards non-Trek fans, they had both decided their first order of business would be to find a way to blend into the crowds. That meant changing out of their normal clothes into the Star Trek- dominated wardrobe of this world.

Now Rembrandt was wandering through the aisles of a clothing store, still wincing from the lingering headache the stun-gun gave him. The selections weren't much to look at by his standards. He was in the Earth section of the store, which mainly consisted of racks and racks of Starfleet uniforms.

The uniforms were arranged, not by type like "shirts" or "pants," but by TV show and season. There was the Classic Trek section and the "Voyager" section and the "Next Generation" section, each containing replicas of the show's uniforms. And those sections were divided into Medical, Security, and other departments.

And that was just in the Earth section. There was also a Klingon section, a Borg section, a Ferengi section, and a host of other sections devoted to the alien races of the show. With clothes and makeup kits to buy, you could transform yourself into anyone or anything on the show.

Rembrandt shook his head as he murmured, "One good thing. It looks like bellbottoms were never invented in this world."

Wade emerged from the dressing room. She was barely recognizable. It wasn't just the heavy grey robe she wore that draped over her body. It was the short, black, clipped hair, pointy ears and eyebrows, and slightly greenish tinge to her skin that made Rembrandt blink.

She spread her arms. "Whadda you think?"

"What're you supposed to be?" Rembrandt asked.

Wade scowled and put her hands on her hips. "Come on, Remmy, I'm a Vulcan. I think I look pretty good, too, if I do say so myself." She began adjusting her wig.

Rembrandt shook his head and walked towards her, his boots clumping softly on the floor. He brushed his hands over the blue skintight uniform he was wearing. "I don't know why you didn't just put on a regular Starfleet uniform like me."

"Because," Wade said as she smoothed on one of her eyebrows, "the women's outfits only come in two types - mini- skirts from the sixties or the spandex from Next Generation. I wouldn't put on one of those mini-skirts without chaining the hem to my legs, and I won't put on one of those spandex jobs without locking myself in a gym for two months."

Wade finished primping herself and grinned up at Rembrandt. "Besides, Vulcans are cool."

"Yeah, well, I always went for the Klingons myself." Rembrandt cast an eye towards a female Klingon mannequin that sported an armored uniform. "But, uh, I don't think you wanna wear one o' those either."

"Not on your life," Wade said, eyeing the chest. "Now come on, let's get outta here. We have work to do."

"Right." Rembrandt began to head for the counter, then did a double-take to squint at her face. "Did you shave off your eyebrows?"

Wade smirked as she walked past him to the counter. "You gotta sacrifice to look the part, Remmy."

Rembrandt followed her to the counter. They handed the clerk cash when she rang up the bill. They had been fortunate enough to be carrying silver coins from two worlds ago, because their regular money would have been worthless on this world. Instead of presidents like Abraham Lincoln, George Washington, and Ben Franklin on the dollar bills, they had people like William Shatner, Patrick Stewart, and Gene Roddenberry.

After paying and having their regular clothes bagged, Rembrandt and Wade set out down the street.

"Yeah, this is more like it," Rembrandt whispered as they moved through the crowds. "First time since we landed in this nuthouse that nobody's been starin' at us."

He tugged at his collar. "Just wish I could get comfortable in this outfit."

"You gotta get into it, Remmy," Wade whispered. "Imagine you *are* a Starfleet officer."

"Let's just concentrate on getting the others and getting outta here, okay?" Rembrandt asked. "I don't wanna get too cozy in this place. Where to next?"

"How about the Lamplighter Bar and Grill?" Wade asked. "If the others got away, that's where they're bound to show up."

"Good idea," Rembrandt said. "And I could use a drink."

They walked down the streets to where the Lamplighter, their usual haunt on a thousand worlds, usually stood. But instead, there was a strange building with a glowing sign that Rembrandt frowned at.

"Ten-Forward?" Rembrandt asked. "What's that?"

"It's the bar on the Enterprise-D of the Next Generation," Wade said with a grin. "Must be a franchise on this world. That's so cool. I always wanted to go to that place."

Wade rushed towards the doors, which was a finely decorated set of glass. As she approached, the doors hissed open. Wade flashed Rembrandt a smile and hurried inside, her robe flapping around her ankles.

Rembrandt stepped into the bar. It was a replica of the one on the show, from what he had seen. It looked more like a lounge with smooth lines and lighted tables scattered around the room. One end of the bar had a counter where men and women in uniforms served drinks to faux-aliens and Starfleet personnel. Rembrandt stood at the other end and looked to see large windows on either side. But instead of a view outside, the windows were in front of screens that projected dazzling views of outer space.

Wade was already sitting at one of the lighted tables. She was studying what looked like a row of chessboards mounted one on top of the other. As Rembrandt took a seat across from her, Wade picked up a piece on one level.

"Tri-chess," Wade said. "I knew a friend who played this game. Really tough."

"Girl," Rembrandt said, shaking his head, "I never knew you were into Trek this much."

Wade smiled as she put the piece back. "You never asked."

A black woman approached the table. She was wearing a strange scarlet gown and a hat that was shaped around an enormous platter that she looked like a teacup. She had a knowing smile on her face as she looked down at them.

"Good afternoon," the black woman said. "My name is Guinan, I'm the owner of this establishment. I...can't say I've seen you around here before."

"Uh, yeah, we just came in on the last shuttle," Wade said.

"I see," Guinan said, and Rembrandt thought he caught a hint of disbelief in her voice. But she brightened as she said, "Well, what can I get for you folks?"

"I'll have a beer," Rembrandt said.

Wade was studying a menu on the table. "I'll have a Klingon Ale. Make it a Light."

"Okay." Guinan produced a pad and pen from her gown and wrote carefully. "One beer and one Klingon Light coming right up."

She glided away from the table. When she was out of earshot, Rembrandt whistled.

"Man, what's with her," he murmured.

"She's an actor," Wade said. "Guinan was on TNG, and she always acted like that. It's all part of the experience."

"We gotta rescue the others and get outta this madhouse," Rembrandt said. "We need a plan."

"And answers," Wade said, then looked over her shoulder at a TV mounted on the corner wall. "Hey, look the news is coming on."

On the TV, a man in a Starfleet uniform sat behind a desk with a grim expression. A deep voice said "This is TNN..." before he spoke.

"Good afternoon," the newscaster said, "and welcome back to Trek News Network. I'm Warren Hull. Our top story...Vice- President Frakes continues to deny rumors that he and President Stewart were in any way involved in the Ferengi trade scandal from last month, and insists that he and Stewart will run for a third term. This is in continued defiance to the other competitors to the presidential race, Kate Mulgrew and her running mate Marina Sirtis."

"In other news," Hull continued, "two men, Maximilian Arturo and Quinn Mallory, were arrested in San Francisco today for allegedly making blasphemous remarks towards the Show. The two men are currently being held at the West Coast Starfleet headquarters until it can be decided what penalties should be levied against them. The companions of these men are still at large, believed to be still in San Francisco."

Wade leaned over the table, the light from it casting angular shadows across her Vulcan face. "That's them! Quinn and the Professor."

"Yeah," Rembrandt murmured. "Starfleet...sounds like a pretty heavy place. How're we gonna get in there and save 'em?"

"I dunno," Wade said. "But we've gotta try."

The newscaster was continuing his broadcast. "And tragedy struck the Tribble Fair last night when the members of the radical terrorist Alternative Video group struck, setting off bombs and holding the audience hostage for an hour as they preached their malicious and blasphemous dogma. The members managed to escape before Starfleet security could arrest them."

"Alternative Video movement," Wade whispered. "Wonder what that's all about."

Guinan seemed to appear out of nowhere alongside their table, holding a tray with two glasses. "They're a terrorist group. Dedicated to breaking up the monopoly that 'Star Trek' has on this world."

"Oh, I see," Wade said, forcing a smile.

Guinan set their drinks in front of them, glanced over her shoulder, then leaned close to Wade and Rembrandt. Her voice lowered to a whisper. "If I were you, I'd try to contact them. The AWs are your best chance for saving your friends from Starfleet and getting out of this universe to your own reality."

Rembrandt stared at her. "How do you know about us?"

Guinan straightened with a coy smile. "I have my sources. Take one of the taxis out front to this address. Good luck." She slipped Rembrandt a piece of paper, then melted back into the crowds.

Rembrandt stared at the empty space where she once was, then looked across the table at Wade. "Now that was one spooky gal." 


	5. Chapter 5

Keep on Trekkin'  
by Nigel G. Mitchell

(c) Copyright September 1996

Quinn heard the hiss of the door opening, but remained lying down on his bed, facing the wall. He could hear Arturo rising up on the bed as footsteps drew closer to his cell.

"Well," McFadden said, "have you made your decision?"

"You know we have," Quinn said into his mattress, then rolled over to glare at Dr. McFadden and Lt. Jimia Nyran who stood by his side. "The answer is no."

"I see. Then I'm afraid you give us no choice." Dr. McFadden turned to Lt. Nyran. "Bring in the Betazoid."

Lt. Nyran nodded and strode to the door. It hissed open, softly to allow her through. Then it opened again. Nyran came back in, this time followed by another woman.

She was wearing an outfit that reminded Quinn of a cheerleader's uniform. Her long black hair flowed down to the shoulder of a short-skirted blue dress. The woman's Mediterranean features were brought out by her eyes, which were jet-black. Quinn assumed she was wearing contacts.

"This is Deanna Troi," McFadden said. "She is a Betazoid, a telepath capable of reading your thoughts. She will tell us what we need to know."

Arturo snorted and sat back on his bunk with his arms folded. "You cannot be serious."

"We are," McFadden said. "Roddenberry taught of the existence of psychic phenomena and Starfleet has harnessed this power for its own use."

Arturo smiled sardonically at Troi. "Very well, madam. Do your worst. And pray you are not reading what I'm thinking right now."

Troi held up her hands, closed her eyes, and squeezed her eyes shut in concentration.

Quinn felt a chill as the woman began to murmur to herself. It suddenly occured to him that this wasn't his world. Maybe psychic phenomena was more widespread on this Earth, like Oracle Earth. Maybe Troi would be able to extract the technology of hyperspatial travel from Quinn and Arturo after all. He tried to concentrate, to block out all thoughts of his invention, but it was suddenly all he could think about.

Troi suddenly gave out a cry, then yelled, "I sense...pain! Great pain! Sorrow...sadness...loneliness..."

Quinn shivered as he realised how sad and lonely he was feeling without Wade and Rembrandt. It was working.

Troi's fingers trembled in the air as she whispered. "So much pain...sorrow...these two...in pain..."

"Yes, I understand," McFadden said. "Can you read their thoughts? Can you see the technical schematics for the hyperspatial transporter?"

Troi winced, her eyes still closed. "I...sense emotions... strong emotions from this one...the one called the Professor. He is in pain. Great...pain..."

"Yes, I understand," McFadden said with a trace of annoyance. "They're both in pain, suffering, all of that. But can you see the plans for the timing device?"

Troi turned herself and opened her eyes to look at Quinn. "This one....has lost something....very important to him... in pain..."

Quinn thought of Wade and nodded. "Yeah...I have..."

"Is it the timing device?" Dr. McFadden asked, and held up the timer. "Is it this that he's lost? Is he thinking about it, schematics? Tell me!"

"In pain," Troi whispered and began to sway back and forth. "So much pain..."

"Forget the pain!" Dr. McFadden yelled. "I need data! Hard data! Facts!"

"Pain!" Troi screamed and collapsed onto the floor. Nyran rushed to cradle her.

"What happened?" Dr. McFadden asked.

Nyran glared up at him as she held Troi's head in her lap. "She's emotionally-drained. You were asking too much of her."

Dr. McFadden rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. "I don't think it's asking too much of the enormous resources Starfleet is putting into the psychic division to be able to produce one telepath who can actually contribute something useful."

Arturo grinned at Quinn. "Told you there was nothing to worry about, my boy."

Nyran began dragging Troi out of the room as McFadden pointed at Arturo. "Don't be so sure of yourselves, gentlemen. We're not through with you yet. We have a few more aces up our sleeves. We want that data and we will have it. We'll give you one more hour."

McFadden turned and charged out of the room, his white coat flapping around his heels.

Arturo chuckled. "I wonder who they'll bring in to terrify us with next time? David Copperfield?"

* * *

Wade and Rembrandt finished their drinks and headed casually out of Ten-Forward. On the street, they found shuttlecraft roaring down the streets instead of cars. One of them had a yellow sign on the roof that read "Taxi." They hailed the taxi and the shuttlecraft picked them up and took them to the address on the paper Guinan gave them.

The shuttlecraft drove them down to the first area of San Francisco that Rembrandt had seen that didn't look like something out of a scifi movie. It was rows and rows of normal houses and buildings, but all of them seemed to be abandoned. When the taxi stopped at Guinan's address, there was only a large warehouse with shattered windows.

"This is it?" Rembrandt asked as he looked out his window.

"Guess so," Wade sighed. "I just hope Guinan is as smart in this world as she is on the TV show."

She leaned over to pay the cabbie. The large man with a mop hairdo took the money and gave her a wan smile as he spoke in a thick Russian accent. "Thank you for riding in my wessel. And please to be having a pleasant day."

"Yeah, we'll try," Rembrandt said as he climbed out.

When they were clear of the taxi and it was humming off down the road again, Wade shook her head at Rembrandt. "Figures Pavel would be a fan of Chekov in this world."

Rembrandt chuckled, then led the walk down to the creaking door of the warehouse. As they walked down the lonely street, Rembrandt felt something nagging at him. He looked up at the blue sky. Another plane shaped like the Enterprise-D was roaring overhead.

Something clicked in Rembrandt's mind.

As they reached the door of the warehouse, Rembrandt reached for Wade. She was extending a hand and knocked on the door twice before Rembrandt stopped her.

"Wait a minute," Rembrandt said. "Who does that gal, what's-her-name, Guinan...who's she work for on that TV show?"

Wade frowned, her pointy eyebrows furrowing. "Well...she was the hostess of Ten-Forward, it was on the Enterprise, so she worked for..."

Wade's face collapsed into an expression of horror. "Starfleet."

Rembrandt grabbed her arm and began to run from the door of the warehouse. Wade bolted after him, arms and legs pumping under her robe.

But they weren't fast enough to outrun the beams of red light that shone out of the broken windows of the building. They fell on Wade and Rembrandt. The two felt the searing pain of tasers hitting and igniting on their skin.

"Aw, man," Rembrandt gasped, "not again."

Then he collapsed. 


	6. Chapter 6

Keep on Trekkin'  
by Nigel G. Mitchell

(c) Copyright September 1996

Wade opened her eyes. A sharp stab of pain inside her skull caused her to shut them again and groan.

"Relax," someone said. "The effects of the phaser will wear off in a minute."

Wade opened her eyes again. This time, she forced herself to keep them open.

She was lying on a bed. Leaning over her was a woman wearing a black robe-like uniform. Her long, black hair was tied back in a ponytail. Beyond the woman, Wade could see others wandering around in a vast, dimly-lit chamber. It looked like the inside of a warehouse, with light filtering through a skylight.

A large group of people was sitting in front of one wall which was covered from end-to-end with TV sets. All the TVs were playing different shows, their sounds blending into a headsplitting medley.

Wade sat up, despite the pain it caused. She looked over to where Rembrandt was lying on a bed next to her. He looked like he was still unconscious.

"Where are we?" Wade asked. "What's going on? Last time I remember...there was a warehouse...and Guinan..."

She tried to jump out of bed. The woman stopped her, gently pushing her back onto the mattress.

"Relax," the woman said. "You're among friends."

Wade glared at her as she shifted backwards a little on the bed. "No, Guinan...she turned us in..."

The woman blinked. "What are you talking about?"

"Guinan, at Ten-Forward."

The woman broke into a smile. "Oh, you mean Monica. She's just a waitress at Ten-Forward."

Wade frowned. "But...she knew so much about me and Rembrandt. About our friends and about our being from another reality."

The woman rolled her eyes as she waved a hand. "Oh, that's nothing. She has a contact at Starfleet, and your friends spilled their guts to everybody who'd listen there about being from another dimension. Monica just likes to show off. Hang on."

The woman looked over her shoulder. "Hey, she's awake."

The others in the warehouse rushed at her and Rembrandt, crowding around them. Wade shrank back, expecting them to tear her to pieces, but hands groped for hers and shook them.

The woman smiled from ear-to-ear. "Ma'am, you're... you're our hero. You and your friends. You've done wonders for our cause."

Wade yanked her hand out of the grip of another. "What're you talking about?"

The woman clasped her hands in front of her chest. "We are the San Francisco branch of the Alternative Video movement."

Wade closed her eyes and relaxed. They were among friends after all.

On the bed next to her, Rembrandt groaned, then murmured, "Oh, man. Somebody check the wattage on that amplifier. It's too high..."

He sat up, clutching his forehead. When he opened his eyes and saw the crowds around him, he jerked back.

"Hey," he blurted, "what is this, man?"

"It's okay," the woman said. "My name is Susanna Irons, but I prefer to be called Susan Ivanova. I'm the leader of the San Francisco branch of the Alternative Video movement."

Rembrandt rubbed his head as he swept his gaze over the smiling faces surrounding his bed. "Oh, yeah, we've been lookin' for you guys. I think."

Susan's smile faded. "Surely you've heard of us?"

Wade gave her a half-hearted smile. "Uh, we're kinda new to this area. Could you fill us in?"

"Well, all right." Susan drew herself up, taking on a determined air. "The Alternative Video movement was formed in 1988 after the cancellation of the TV series, 'Alien Nation.' It was the last non-Trek TV show left on the air. With it went the end of free will. The end of choice."

"We're living in a dictatorship," another woman said. "One where 'Star Trek' rules and governs rather than a body of men."

A man with a thick beard and mustache said, "The AVs are dedicated to breaking the monopoly of the Treks. We don't believe that the only good science- fiction is 'Star Trek.' Heck, the new shows aren't even that good anymore, but they expect us to watch them just because they've got the name 'Trek' stamped on them. Many TV series as good or even better than Trek are being kept from the public."

"'X-Files,'" a woman said. "'Alien Nation.' 'Twilight Zone.' 'Earth2.' 'Battlestar Galactica.' 'Quantum Leap.' 'Babylon 5.' All these shows have been written and even produced, but Starfleet stepped in and pulled them off the air. They're trying to crush debate, make sure that nothing takes down their dynasty."

Susan pointed towards the TV screens on the wall behind her. "That's why we run these underground TV stations, broadcasting original non-Trek programming. We distribute videotapes, hold secret conventions. We are dedicated to giving people freedom of choice."

A wild-eyed man with white hair grabbed Rembrandt's shoulder. "That's why you're heroes, man. Ever since Starfleet passed a law making insults of 'Star Trek' a felony, people have been too scared to speak against it in public. But your friends not only did it, they did it out on the street. Showed people that Starfleet can be beaten. That the truth must be told."

Susan nodded. "That's why we allowed you to find us. Brought you here to our headquarters. Your friends are symbols. With them to point to, we may be able to rally the people against Starfleet. But if Starfleet gets its way, your friends will die, and take our dream with it."

Rembrandt looked at Wade, then at Susan. "So what'll we do?"

"Well," Susan said, "there's the problem. Starfleet security has some of the best defenses in the world. It won't be easy to get to your friends. Especially if they make them fight in the Arena."

"The what?"

Susan swallowed, then said, "Have you ever seen the Trek episode 'The Gamesters of Triskelion?'"

* Quinn and Arturo sat on their cots facing the door. Through the electrified mesh, they could see Dr. McFadden stroll into the room. This time, Lt. Nyran wasn't with him. The scientist nodded to the security guard, then glared down at Quinn.

"Last chance," McFadden said, "to make your decision."

"You know our answer," Arturo said, glaring up at him. "The answer is and always shall be no. We will never support your insane schemes."

McFadden nodded. "I see. Then I'm afraid you give us no choice but to execute you."

Arturo raised his voice. "Without a trial? What kind of barbarians are you?"

"Oh, you'll have a trial," McFadden said. "A trial by combat."

"What're you talking about?" Quinn growled.

McFadden smiled down at him. "In this world, we've adopted an alternate judicial system based on a classic scene from the episode 'Gamesters of Triskelion.' In case you're unfamiliar with it, that was the episode where Kirk was forced to do battle for the amusement of alien beings. In trial by combat, you will do the same. Fight to the death. The winner will be declared innocent of all charges and set free. The loser will die."

Arturo snorted. "You *have* been watching too much television if you think we'll be a party to such nonsense."

McFadden looked away from Quinn to glare at Arturo. "You'll do it. Because if you don't, we'll kill both of you. It's either one of you dies or both of you die. Your choice. The fight will begin very shortly, in time for you to consider your fate."

McFadden backed away from the cells and walked out of the room. As the door hissed shut, Quinn felt his spirits sink.

* * *

Rembrandt tried to look calm and natural as he drove the shuttlecraft-shaped truck to the entrance of the enormous headquarters of Starfleet. It was built with the usual futuristic architecture this world displayed, and helicopters shaped like spaceships flittered in the air above it. The entire perimeter was surrounded by a large fence.

Wade was sitting next to him in the passenger seat, clutching a small bottle in her hands. Behind her, Ivanova sat with her hand on her shoulder.

"Yeah sure you can do this?" Ivanova asked.

Wade nodded. "Don't have much choice, do I? Anyway, it's my plan. If I can't pull it off, I shouldn't expect anyone else to."

Ivanova pointed past Rembrandt to a spot alongside the complex's fence. "Pull up here."

Rembrandt parked the truck alongside the spot she had pointed at. Ivanova climbed out, striding up to a seemingly innocent spot on the grass. Rembrandt and Wade followed her, exchanging nervous glances. But Ivanova knelt and dug her fingers into the soil. When she straightened, Ivanova yanked out a circular metal cover hidden under the earth.

Rembrandt leaned over to peer into the dark hole Ivanova revealed. "So that's it?"

"Yup," Ivanova said. "It's an entrance to the ventilation system for the building. We use it to spy on Starfleet from time to time. But like I said, you won't be able to use it to get into the complex directly. That's where Wade's plan comes in."

Wade nodded, then slipped the bottle into her mouth. Clenching it between her teeth, she walked up to the hole in the ground. After glancing up at Rembrandt, unconsciously brushing down her medical uniform, she got on her knees and slid her legs into the hole. Wade rustled around in the pipe for a moment, then slid down into the shadows. Rembrandt could hear the thumps as she made her way through the vent.

Ivanova looked up at Rembrandt and raised her eyebrows. "Well, that's one half of the plan."

"Yeah," Rembrandt said, then looked up at a shuttlecraft that roared overhead. "And here's the other."

PART SEVEN

Quinn and Arturo sat in silence, staring at the floor. The only thing visible from where Quinn was sitting was the security guard in his chair. They could hear light strains of the Star Trek theme song coming from the portable TV in the guard's hands.

Arturo shifted his gaze to glare at the guard. "I say, my good man, don't you have something else to do besides watch that insipid TV show? Read a book or something."

"You're in enough trouble as it is," the guard snarled. "Don't make it worse by insulting the Show anymore."

Arturo shot to his feet and charged towards the electrified mesh between him and the guard. "Worse? How could it be any worse? We're about to forced into a battle to the death! And you have not even begun to hear my views on that pseudo-scientific claptrap!"

"Professor," Quinn said. "Come on, relax. He's not worth it."

Arturo looked at him, then nodded as he glared at the guard. "Yes, you're right, of course. He is not worth it. We have more pressing concerns."

Arturo sat down next to Quinn and sighed. "Like how to get out of this mess."

* * *

The entrance of the Starfleet Headquarters building glittered from the huge fountain mounted in front of it. The fountain was actually an enormous statue of Gene Roddenberry gazing up at the stars. Cradled in his gigantic arms were models of the Star Trek vessels from various shows. Water sprayed out of jets encircling his head to give him a crown.

Men and women walked the cobblestone walkways in front of the building, all dressed as aliens or Starfleet officers. They worked cheerfully to carry out the plans of Starfleet, ensuring a Trek-filled world.

Dr. McFadden and Lt. Nyran walked the cobblestone walkway in front of the building. They listened to the looped and continuous strains of the original Star Trek series that could be heard from anywhere in the complex.

McFadden smiled. "This is it, Jimia, I can feel it. We're on the verge of a breakthrough that will finally crush the Picards once and for all."

"Yes, sir," Nyran said, then frowned, her nose-ridge crinkling. "Uh, do you think it's wise to, um...kill these people? They have the secret of hyperspatial transport. Without them..."

McFadden strolled past a garden of flowers labeled "Vulcan Orchids." "Without them, we will still be able to disassemble the timing device and decipher its technology. It will take time, but we'll still be ahead of the Picards. And without them, there will be no chance of the Picards ever finding out the secret themselves."

Nyran watched a helicopter roar overhead, one whose body was shaped like a Star Trek shuttlecraft. "Good thinking, sir."

"But of course," McFadden said as the roar grew louder. "I wasn't appointed head of the Trek Technology Division for nothing."

McFadden looked up at the helicopter that was rushing towards Starfleet, its rotors kicking up clouds of dust. "I say...isn't that shuttle flying a little close?"

Nyran unclipped her communicator from her belt and flipped it open. "I'll have security check...look out, sir!"

She grabbed McFadden and hurled him into the orchids. She did so as the shuttlecraft came squealing down out of the sky to collide with the Starfleet building. The shuttlecraft exploded into a huge fireball. Broken plaster and concrete showered down onto the Roddenberry statue that continued to smile at empty space.

The wrecked shuttlecraft opened from the rear hatch. Men and women in various clothing styles slid down ropes and began firing phasers in every direction, tasering Starfleet personnel who ran in terror.

Nyran checked to make sure McFadden was all right, then brought her communicator to her mouth again. "Security to the perimeter, security to the perimeter! We're under attack!"

* * *

Quinn looked at the wall of his cell, steeling himself for what he was about to say. "Professor...I want you to kill me."

Arturo looked up from where he was fiddling with his tie. "What?"

"I want you to kill me. In the Arena. It's the only way. One of us has to get out of this alive."

"Nonsense," Arturo said. "If it's going to be anyone, it's going...to be me."

Quinn turned away from the wall to glare at him. "Professor..."

A siren began to ring as lighted panels on the walls glowed red. The security guard grabbed his phaser off his belt as he ran out the door.

Arturo frowned. "I say, what's that all about?

Quinn heard a scuffling noise at the air-vent over his bed. Then a woman's voice, "Psst! Guys. Up here."

The professor looked up. "Who said that?"

Quinn looked up at the vent. He could see through the grate to Wade's grinning face. "Wade? What're you doing up there?"

"Remmy and I found some friends," Wade whispered. "They're gonna help us get you outta here."

"Excellent, Miss Welles," Arturo said. "And just in time, too. These barbarians expect us to slaughter one another."

"Uh, that's kind of a problem, professor. We...can't get you out. Security in this place is too tight. We managed to start a diversion and get me into this vent, but I can't open it from this side. Or open the door so you can escape."

Arturo folded his arms behind his back as he glared up at the vent. "I see. So you have come to wish us good-bye, is that it?"

Wade's voice echoed out of the vent. "Don't be so cynical, professor. We got a plan, but it's kinda weird, so just trust with me. Here, take these..."

A pill bottle squeezed through the holes in the grating and dropped onto Quinn's bunk. Arturo picked it up and studied the label.

"What are we supposed to do with this?" Arturo asked.

"Die," Wade said.

PART EIGHT

(AUTHOR'S NOTE: I wish I could've given this part of the story a soundtrack. If you know the music they always played on the original "Star Trek" series during fight scenes, then you can sing along as the story unfolds.)

A few minutes after Wade left, the red alert lights and sirens were shut off. Starfleet security guards marched into the room outside the cell, their phasers aimed at Quinn and Arturo. Lt. Jimia Nyran was among them, sneering.

"Nice try," Nyran said. "I guess your buddies found some allies among the Alternate Videos. But their rescue attempt failed and they've all fled in terror. So it's just the two of you again, and it's time for the trial. Let's go."

Arturo nodded and clapped Quinn on the shoulder. "Well, my friend, I'm afraid this is good-bye."

"Yeah, professor," Quinn snarled. "For you."

Arturo's expression collapsed into one of cold anger. "We shall see who is the victor in the arena, Mr. Mallory. But I tell you now that I intend to live."

One of the guards punched keys on a panel on the wall next to him. The electrified mesh collapsed with a pop of electricity and was drawn into the wall. Arturo stepped through the open doorway, followed by Quinn. Three guards surrounded Arturo. Three surrounded Quinn.

The two groups of guards led Quinn and Arturo to the door. It hissed open and they stepped through it. Once in the aisle outside, the two groups split. Quinn was led one way. Arturo another.

Quinn walked obediently down the passage, past men and women in the usual red-and-black Spandex outfits. They paid no attention as Quinn was led to another doorway that slid open.

Inside, there were a variety of objects mounted on the walls. One was a leather outfit consisting of various straps. The rest were a collection of hand-to-hand weaponry. One was a net, another was a knife, and yet another was a staff with daggers mounted on both ends.

"Get dressed," a guard said, "choose your weapon, and prepare to fight in the arena."

* * *

The arena was a huge circular enclosure surrounded by raised bleachers. In those bleachers were thousands of cheering men and women in various alien costumes. High- pitched, chaotic horn music played on the PA system as Quinn walked out into the arena. He recognized it as the music that was always played on the original 'Star Trek' series during fight scenes.

A triangular marking was painted on the floor of the arena. Arturo stood in one corner of it, dressed in the same leather outfit Quinn was. He held one of the staffs with daggers on its ends. Just like Quinn's.

The voice of the San Francisco security officer, Lt. Jimia Nyran, echoed through the Arena. "An excellent choice, gentlemen. Those daggers are coated with a deadly poison. The slightest scratch will mean instant death for its victim."

Quinn nodded, trying to look surprised. Wade had instructed them to choose these weapons. He raised the staff and dropped into a ready crouch. Arturo did the same.

"You were one of my finest students," Arturo yelled, "but I'm afraid the time has come for us to part ways. I must kill you, Mr. Mallory."

"I'll defend myself, professor," Quinn yelled back. "And I'll win!"

"We'll see," Arturo snarled. "We'll see."

"Let the trial begin," Lt. Nyran yelled.

The music reached a crescendo of screeching blares. Arturo rushed towards Quinn, roaring at the top of his lungs as he raised his staff. The knife on the high end rushed towards Quinn.

Quinn raised his own staff. He used its own length to block the knife which slammed into it. He quickly twisted to throw the professor off-balance, then shoved him away with his foot. Arturo staggered back and they circled each other slowly.

"Feeling all right, Mr. Mallory?" Arturo whispered, quietly enough that the spectators couldn't hear.

"No," Quinn whispered back.

"Good." He swung again.

Quinn jumped back to avoid getting slashed by the knife, then spun his own staff around. Arturo ducked to avoid the poison-tipped blade.

"Not so fast," Arturo hissed. "I'm not as young as I used to be."

Then he roared and charged at Quinn with his staff thrust ahead of him. Quinn jumped out of the way, then kicked Arturo as he passed. The professor landed on his back on the floor. The audience was cheering as the music screamed in the background.

"Bye-bye, professor," Quinn yelled.

He raised his staff. He drove the knife down towards Arturo's head. The professor's eyes widened at the approaching blade, then he rolled out of the way. As he did, Arturo swept at Quinn's leg with his own staff.

Quinn cried out and dropped his staff. It clattered to the floor in the deadly silence that fell over the crowds. Arturo got to his feet and watched Quinn clutch at his thigh with both hands.

"Professor," Quinn gasped. "What...what have you..."

"Oh, no," Arturo said. "Mr. Mallory, what have I done, I didn't mean to..."

Quinn pulled his hands away. They were red from the smear of blood that was running down his calf. Quinn looked down at his fingers, blinking. He could feel a dizziness sweeping over him, one that weakened his legs.

He fell to his knees. The screechy music had been replaced with the low, somber music that "Trek" played during serious tragedy. Arturo stood over him, still holding the bladed staff. The professor was pale.

"I'm sorry, Quinn," Arturo whispered.

Quinn looked up at him. He tried to speak, but nothing came out. His eyes rolled upwards and he felt himself strike the floor.

Somewhere, he heard a door hiss open. Footsteps ran towards him. As he felt himself drifting away, Quinn heard the warbling chirp of a tricorder being passed over him. Then a finger pressed against the vein in his neck.

He could hear someone else getting close. The voice betrayed her as Lt. Jimia Nyran. "Well?"

The last thing Quinn heard was a gravely voice that said, "He's dead, Jimia."

PART NINE

Quinn returned to consciousness to feel himself being carried on something that felt loose and rough like a stretcher. Remembering the plan, he stayed calm and limp as if he was still dead.

He felt the movement pause, then the squeal of a door being opened. He was lifted into something that bounced as he was loaded into it. Then the slam of doors. It was followed by the whine of a siren, along with the usual warp-drive roar.

Wade's voice came to him from his left. "Quinn? You okay?"

"Is it all right to talk?" Quinn murmured.

"Yeah, we're clear."

Quinn opened his eyes. Wade was leaning over him on his left. She was wearing a blue medical Starfleet uniform. Arturo was on his right. Both of them watched him carefully.

"Are you feeling all right, Mr. Mallory?" Arturo asked.

"Yeah," Quinn said. "Got a headache, but I think I'm okay."

Arturo sighed and patted him on the chest. "What a relief. I'm afraid you played possum a little too well, Mr. Mallory. I was afraid that I had actually injured you."

"Never even touched me," Quinn said. "I guess I overdid it when I emptied the blood packet onto my leg, huh?"

"Just a little," Wade said.

Quinn sat up. He was in the back of an ambulance. A woman in a black striped uniform was sitting in front of his stretcher, grinning at him.

"Who're you?" Quinn asked.

"Susan Ivanova," the woman said. "Head of the SF Alternative Video movement."

"She's the one who helped us out," Wade added. "She arranged the diversion, getting me into the vent, everything."

"Except the plan," Ivanova said. "That was all her idea."

Wade shrugged with a wide smile on her face. "Hey, I know my 'Star Trek.' They pulled the same trick in 'Amok Time.'

"What was that stuff you gave me?" Quinn asked.

"A neural stimulizer," the woman said. "Slows the heartbeat and other vital functions to simulate death for up to fifteen minutes. Enough time to get you out of the arena and into this ambulance."

Quinn looked at Arturo, who smiled down at him. "How'd you get out, professor?"

"They released me after my victory," Arturo said. "Although I imagine they planned to apprehend me again for questioning in regards to the timer."

"The timer," Quinn said, then lunged forward. "The timer! Dr. McFadden's got it..."

Wade stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Calm down, Quinn. We broke into his office and stole it during the fight."

Quinn sighed. "You guys thought of everything."

Quinn turned around. Rembrandt was behind the wheel of the shuttlecraft-shaped ambulance that hummed down the streets of the city. He was likewise wearing a medical uniform. Rembrandt turned down a side street into an empty alley.

"Where to now, Q-Ball?" Rembrandt asked.

"We gotta find someplace to hide out until the slide," Quinn said.

"You can stay at our headquarters," Ivanova said. "It's comfortable, and Starfleet still doesn't know where it is. You'll be safe there."

"Sounds good," Quinn started to say, then was thrown back as the ambulance came to a sudden halt. He looked at Rembrandt. "What happened?"

Rembrandt had his hands raised as he stared out the windshield. A row of men and women in security uniforms were standing the alley in front of them, aiming phasers at him.

Quinn turned to see the doors of the ambulance yanked open. More security guards stood in the doorway, phasers aimed at the occupants. Quinn raised his hands, as did Ivanova, Wade, and Arturo.

Dr. McFadden and Lt. Nyran stepped into view. McFadden was grinning from ear-to-ear.

"You didn't expect to get away with that plan, did you?" Dr. McFadden asked. "On a world like this, did you think we wouldn't figure out you'd pull the trick from 'Amok Time?' We knew you were being helped from the outside and guessed correctly that the source was the AVs. We'll take your timing device now, ladies and gentlemen. And then kill you. And you..."

He pointed at Ivanova. "...have a date with our interrogators. We're most anxious to find out the location of your secret headquarters."

Wade spoke. "There's one thing you didn't count on, Dr. McFadden."

Dr. McFadden raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really? And what's that."

Wade broke into a smile. "We also saw 'Wrath of Khan.' Now!"

Yells and thumps came from above the ambulance. Quinn looked out the window to see that every seemingly window in the buildings surrounding the alley was pouring out men and women in various forms of non-Trek dress. They all brandished rifles and pistols that they aimed down at the Trek guards.

"Drop your weapons," Ivanova yelled. "Hands on top of your heads."

McFadden and Nyran raised their hands. The guards threw their phasers to the ground and followed suit. The AVs began handcuffing them all to a water pipe on one wall of the alley. McFadden allowed himself to be handcuffed while glaring at Quinn.

"You'll never get away with this," McFadden snarled.

"We already have," Wade said. "Bye-bye."

The AVs swept up all the phasers, then climbed into the back of the ambulance. They waved at McFadden, then slammed the door in his face. Rembrandt started the engine and drove away, leaving the Treks standing cuffed and unarmed in their wake.

Quinn could hear Dr. McFadden erupt in a bloodcurlding scream that echoed off the walls of the alley. "Waaaaaaaade!" * * *

Quinn sat on the giant couch that faced the wall in AV Headquarters that was covered with TV sets. His eyes jumped from one screen to another as he stuffed popcorn into his mouth.

Wade dropped into the seat next to him. "How can you watch all these shows at once?"

"You get used to it," Quinn murmured. "Some of these are pretty cool and I've never seen them. There's one show called 'Nowhere Man' about this guy whose life gets erased. And another called 'Dark Skies' about this alternate history where aliens caused all the major events of history..."

"Yeah, okay, Quinn," Wade said. "We didn't travel through a thousand worlds so you could become a couch potato. Besides, it's time to go."

"Yeah, okay." Quinn put aside his popcorn and got to his feet.

As they stood, he did a double-take. Wade was wearing her Vulcan robe and make-up with a broad smile. Quinn looked down at his own regular clothes and back up at her with a frown.

"Aren't you gonna change before we slide?" Quinn asked.

"Nah," Wade said, "I like it. You can't get Vulcan outfits this good this cheap on our world. I'd like to wear it as long as I can. Who knows, maybe we'll slide into a Trek convention on our world and I'll win first prize."

"Okay," Quinn said, then followed her saying, "Man, I never knew you were this big a Trekkie."

"It's *Trekker,*" Wade called over her shoulder.

The others in the AV movement were gathered around the center of the warehouse. There, Arturo and Rembrandt waited. Rembrandt had the timer in his hand.

"Ready to go, guys?" Rembrandt asked.

"Ready as we'll ever be," Wade sighed. "Too bad we gotta go. Other than the heresy and the trial and the death and all, this place was kinda cool."

"I'm afraid I can't share your enthusiasm," Arturo growled. "If I never heard the word 'Star Trek' again it will be too soon. And you aren't seriously planning on sliding in that ridiculous wardrobe, are you?"

"Yup," Wade said, folding her arms and letting the sleeves drape over her.

Arturo rolled his eyes. "Good heavens. This world has driven her insane."

Ivanova walked out of the crowds, followed by a man wearing reptilian makeup, red contacts, and clothes that looked like they were made of leather patches bolted together.

"G'kar and I wanted to say goodbye," Ivanova said, "and thank you for all you've done."

"And thank you," Wade said. "We never could've done it without you."

"Yeah," Quinn said. "Hope you guys succeed."

"We will," G'Kar said. "You will serve as inspiration to us all. Knowing that there are other worlds where 'Star Trek' does not reign supreme gives us hope for ours."

Rembrandt looked at the timer's display, then said, "Showtime, everybody."

He aimed the timer at a wall and pushed the button. A gasp rose up from the crowds as the beam struck a portion of the wall and collapsed it into a hole glowing with bluish light.

Rembrandt waved to the others, then jumped into the hole. He disappeared in a flash of light. Arturo ran and jumped in, followed by Wade. Quinn took one last look at the people gathered around him, then leapt into the vortex of hyperspace. The wormhole collapsed in his wake.

* * *

"Wow," Ivanova said. "That was the most incredible thing I've ever seen."

"Yes," G'Kar said. "Think about it. People traveling from one world to another. The possibilities...I think it might make a fairly good TV show. They could call it 'Sliders.'"

"Yeah, that would be cool," Ivanova said. "But it'd never catch on." 


End file.
